


maybe i'm brainless

by livtontea



Category: Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Not Beta Read, Scarecrowfication, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 12:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: “Let the green girl go!”What a lovely green girl she is, and he can barely believe anybody has told her otherwise.
Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Fiyero Tigelaar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	maybe i'm brainless

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this immediately after i got home from seeing wicked for the first time. holy shit. it's 12:45 in the morning and i'm posting this. wicked fandom are you proud of me??
> 
> title is from as long as you're mine 😔

Fiyero is lifted up into the air, hands pushing and shoving at him from the sides—his arms are already hanging over a long stick, the wooden beam preventing him from trying to run.

“Take him to the field!” somebody shouts, and Fiyero’s stomach clenches in fear, chest already feeling hollow. More shouting echoes in his ears as he’s carried away, the cornfield coming nearer and nearer. His arms—already stiff—burn.

Somebody lands a hit on his leg. Somebody yanks at the cuffs of his pants. His chest feels hollow. Elphaba must be far away now; he desperately wishes she is, _ she has to be. _

_ “Let the green girl go!” _

What a lovely green girl she is, and he can barely believe anybody has told her otherwise. Her skin is reminiscent of the crisp emerald of apples, or grass, or leaves appearing on spring branches—not bog water or toads or anything like that. She says that she’s horrid; Fiyero says that she’s beautiful, and he isn’t lying. People say that her skin is the manifestation of her wickedness; Fiyero firmly believes that green is the color of life.

His arms burn, and he doesn’t think about how long it will take before he drops dead amidst the cornstalks. Drops dead—because he isn’t telling where Elphaba is. Not now, not ever, and even if he falls to pieces he won’t tell them anything.

The hollowness grows sharper. They’re at the field now, and he’s being thrown to the ground carelessly—somebody kicks him right under his ribs, hard, and he shrivels in pain, but he’s hollow, hollow, hollow, so really it doesn’t make much of a difference. The blows delivered to his body—his chest, his arms, his legs, his face and neck—hurt less and less, and he feels them still, but less. And less. 

His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton—or completely empty. He can’t feel anything anymore, but his fingers are slow and hard to move; straw is peeking out from his seams. The kicks are almost intangible now. His thoughts are slow and hazy, washed out and stripped of meaning. Who is he? Why is he here? _ Where _ is here? If you’d asked, he couldn’t tell. Everything is blurred at the edges, and maybe a little further in than that.

He’s alone in the middle of a cornfield, wooden pole still pressing into his back; arms still wrapping the warm wood. He’s alone in the middle of a cornfield, and uncurling himself so he lies flat on his back, he has a perfect view of the murder of crows circling above. 

Elphaba did a good job.

Elphaba.

He sits up. His face is drawn into a smile. Staggeringly unsteady, he gets to his feet. The wind sifts through his burlap skin, rustling the straw filling inside. The crows caw at him.

He turns to look for where he needs to be, and then starts walking. Elphaba must be waiting. 

**Author's Note:**

> aaa i need to explore their relationship more. i will but probably not when it's a school day past midnight lmao
> 
> i love elphie, and so does fiyero, so writing his pov works out nicely. drop a line! i'd love to know your thoughts :) tell me what other wicked bs can i write skskdf


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